England x Reader: Light My Candle
by SunshineBlondie
Summary: England x Reader. Rent songfic ;D You want to get to know that mysterious customer in the strip club... and you'll do whatever it takes.


The moment the consilk blonde walks into the ratty old door of the nightclub, you can tell there's something about him. For one thing, even though his eyes look tired and maybe even a little depressed, they stand out perfectly between the colourful flickering lights. They look like someone had plucked a thousand blades of grass, nestling them carefully inside his irises. They hold mysteries. You want to solve them.

His hair is messy but handsome, eyebrows thick, though in a sexy way. He wears an old t-shirt with the Rolling Stones logo, the tongue sticking out proudly. It looks like it hasn't been washed in years. His jeans are stone-washed and sad. He's a real mess.

But there's something to him.

His loud friend is practically drooling over you and your other co-workers, pumping his fist in the air, shouting, "HELL YEAH!" He jerks his elbow towards the good looking man, jabbing him in the ribcage. This earns him a hard smack to the head and a scowl. You look to your friend Tammy across the left side of the stage, giving her a knowing look. She grins impishly, mouthing, _I'll take care of him._ Slowly, she strides over to him, crouching at the edge of the stage, pulling his face closer to hers. The loud guy's eyes are goggling at her chest, like he can't believe he's getting this lucky. Quickly, she pushes him away. You're teases; you don't let the men win. The music starts.

Your act is simple really. Prance around seductively, meow at the customers, crawl on the floor, show off your provocative clothes, bathe yourself in glitter, and sing. They aren't exactly the kind of songs you'd sing in church, but you have a pretty voice. You always hold a golden candle with you, almost for good luck. There are other acts you have to do also, not ones to be proud of, but how else are you going to make money? The men hoot and holler, clearly aroused by you and your friends, signifying a job well done. You sigh inwardly. This is how it's going to be.

Your (e/c) eyes suddenly focuss to the handsome man you've been looking at all night. He seems tired and defeated, not even impressed by your work. You see him excuse himself, darting towards the exit. You want to follow him.

Pushing open the heavy back door, the cold wraps itself around you, causing you to shiver. It's December, not the time to be walking outside in a tight miniskirt and midriff top, heels crunching underneath the snow. You spot the man. He slowly, almost mechanically, brings a cigarette to his lips. You smile, clutching your candle tightly, blowing it out.

_"Got a light?"_ you sing, giving him a wink. He whirls around, frightened by your question. You wonder if he recognizes you.

He frowns. "I know you," he whispers. "You're... you're shivering." He has a calm British accent.

You roll your eyes. _"It's nothing, they turned off the heat."_ You point your finger towards the club, shaking your head. _"And I'm just a little weak on my feet. Would you light my candle?"_ You hold out the candle to his face, only to be welcomed by his intent gaze. "What are you staring at?"

He seems to fully snap back to attention. "N-nothing," he stammers. "Your hair in the moonlight. You look familiar." You stumble over a block of ice, his strong arms catching you. You see they have angry scars. "Can you make it?" he asks.

_"Just haven't eaten much today,"_ you explain. _"At least the room stopped spinning, anyway."_ He finally lights a match, the candle burning beautifully. You twirl around, giving a giggle. You notice his stare again. "What?"

"Nothing," he replies quietly. "Your smile reminded me of-"

You grin. _"I always remind people of... who is she?"_

"She died," he answers solemnly. "Her name was Callie."

You blow out the candle as fast as you can, so he doesn't notice. _"It's out again! Sorry about your friend. Would you light my candle?" _

He lights another match, connecting it with the candle. Something burns your finger. "Ow!"

"Oh, the wax, it's..."

_"Dripping!"_ You curl your fingers around his, pulling his chest to yours. _"I like it between my-"_

"Fingers!" he cuts off, laughing sheepishly. "I figured. Oh, well, goodnight." He starts to walk away. You don't want him to leave. You whisper your breath against the flame. It dies out.

"It blew out again?" he asks.

"No, I think that I dropped my stash." You frantically search the alley floor for your weed that probably fell out of your flimsy pocket.

"I know I've seen you out and about. When I've gone out. Your candle's out." He points to your object, arching an eyebrow.

_"I'm illin', I had it when I walked in the door. It was pure! Is it on the floor?"_ You crouch on the cold ground, the snow pinching your bare knees.

"The floor?" You crawl around, looking for your drugs. You know where he's staring.

_"They say that I have the best ass. Below 14th Street, is it true?"_

It takes him at least a minute to reply. "W-what?"

_Men._ You give another eye roll. _"You're starin' again."_

You catch a glimpse of his face. It's bright red, the moon illuminating it. "O-oh n-no. I mean, you _do_. Have a nice a-" He lets out a frustrated cry, making you almost laugh out loud. "I mean, you look familiar."

_"Like your dead girlfriend."_

"Only when you smile, but I'm sure I've seen you somewhere else."

_"You know the Cat Scratch Club?"_ You jerk your head towards the building. _"That's where I work, I dance."_

His face flickers with recognition. "Yes!" He snaps his fingers. "They tied you up."

_"It's a living."_

He grins, lifting his arms above his head, criss-crossing them, but still keeping them together. "I didn't recognize you without the handcuffs."

You want to change the subject badly. _"We could light the candle."_ You hold it up to his face impatiently. _"Oh won't you light the candle?"_ He does again, the alley bathed in fiery light.

"Why don't you forget that stuff?" he asks, gesturing towards your pot. "You look like you're sixteen."

_"I'm nineteen!"_ you correct sharply. _"But I'm old for my age. I'm just born to be bad."_

"I once was born to be bad," he says softly. "I used to shiver like that."

"I have no heat, I told you."

"I used to sweat."

_"I got a cold."_

"Uh huh, I used to be a junkie."

_"But now and then I like to..."_

"Uh huh."

_"Feel good."_

He looks to the floor. "Oh, here it..."

"What's that?" you demand.

"What? Oh." He stuffs something in his back pocket. "Candy bar wrapper."

_"We could light the candle."_ You push it towards his face, surprised when he takes the flame out with his rough fingertips. _"Oh, what'd you do with my candle?"_

"That was my last match," he murmurs.

_"Our eyes'll adjust. Thank God for the moon."_

"Maybe it's not the moon at all. I hear Spike Lee's shooting down the street." He sits on the floor, his jeans getting soaked from the frozen ice. You sit beside him, tangling your hands with his.

_"Bah humbug, bah humbug."_

"Cold hands," he remarks.

_"Yours too."_ You rub them together, creating friction. _"Big, like my father's."_ You suddenly grin, jumping up, pulling his hands with you. "Do you wanna dance?"

He frowns. "With you?"

"No." You let him spin you around, your (h/c) hair flying everywhere. _"With my father."_

He looks a you for a long time. "I'm Arthur."

You throw your head back, laughing deliriously. _"They call me, they call me... (y/n)"_ You carefully take your stash out of his back pocket, shaking it in his face, then sauntering away, back into the club.

You hear footsteps behind, following you.


End file.
